


The Empty Casket

by trippydooda



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trippydooda/pseuds/trippydooda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's been four years, Cole. Four fucking years. Why come crawling back now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> someday i will finish this. i haven't forgotten about it. i just suck.¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

If he's honest, he doesn't let himself think about it. But it's on nights like this, where he's at home, sitting at his dining table with a quickening empty bottle of scotch, that Stefan Bekowsky lets himself think about it. As the cool breeze from his open window hugs his cheeks, he lets himself think about it. He starts off thinking about mindless things; what to get at the market, what suit he'll sniff and pretend it's clean enough to wear, maybe even the hot blonde secretary that started working at the station. Though it always ends with him thinking about that rainy night four years ago. He had still been in his office, signing off on the day's reports, his tie slightly undone. The door was kept shut - Stefan hated the constant noise that perforated throughout the station, even at ungodly hours such as this.

There was a thump on the door. In reality, it was a knock, but the desperation it took on made more of a thump than a knock. Stefan ignored it - thumps on his door were often. Generally, if he left them alone they would sort themselves out. So with a heaving sigh (he was too tired for this), he continued to shuffle through papers with the passing thought that the rain was getting harder. Yet the thump came again. And again, in rapid succession.

Stefan slammed his papers down on the desk. "Go away," he offered the thump, in an annoyed tone. When it persisted, Stefan kicked back his chair to abruptly stand, entirely too exhausted to exert any patience. In a few quick angry steps, his hand had reached the doorknob as he said, "I swear, if you think trying to get to me at this time of night is going--"

But the door swung open first. Instead of a tweaked out druggie (it really wasn't all that uncommon), the stunned face of a patrolman met Stefan's gaze. He looked like he had just run a mile, or that maybe he witnessed a double homicide and suicide. Stefan was about to offer him a smug smile, but again the patrolman came before him: "Cole Phelps…" He said, panting. "Is… Dead."

The grip on his scotch gets tighter when he thinks about it. The pure adrenaline rush that could only be attributed to panic as he ran out of his office, forgetting all about the paperwork. He made no thought other than to quite literally fly into his car, immediately turning on the radio and blaring his siren. He had no idea where he was going. He followed the sound of other sirens and the exasperated calls over KGPL instead. 

When he made it, he barely had turned the key until he was out of his car and onto the muddy ground, raindrops gathering at the rim of his hat and dripping down. People were yelling and sirens came and went, but Stefan spoke to no one. He darted through the gathering crowds of everyone from the LAPD. Maybe someone called his name, told him to stop, but he couldn't hear it past the thundering noise in his head. But then he saw it. The steady streaming light into the sewer, as if Jesus himself was to rise from its depths. He knew it was there.

He pushed past more spectators, maybe yelling to get out of the way, but what was important was that he was at the opening to the sewer. He flashed his badge to the patrolmen who were reaching for their guns, and then he looked down. The thundering in his head became more known as his heartbeat, and he felt it quicken as he looked below. 

Rushing water. That's all there was. 

Stefan pulled back, feeling himself beginning to hyperventilate. He ran his fingers through his matted wet hair - knocking his hat off in the process, but he didn't notice - and tried to think. Cole had to be around here. There was no way a man like him could so easily be washed away, literally. The thought made him want to puke. Yet Cole couldn't have. Surely he knew how to swim? He must be around, the patrolman must have heard wrong; Cole was alive. He was alive and well, and any moment here there was going to be laugh, a talk of how wet they both were but how Cole was still breathing and they would shake hands - no, they would hug - and everything was going to be okay and nothing will--

"Bekowsky." A voice came from behind him, but it was not Cole's. Stefan whirled his head around, a piece of stray hair slapping him in the face. His eyes met with Jack Kelso, longtime war enemy and friend. Kelso's eyes were sunken in, as if he had swam across the Pacific Ocean. 

Immediately Stefan did a head count. Clutching the soaking wet Kelso was an equally beaten down Elsa. Her eyes never left the ground. Beside them was Herschel Biggs, shaking his head. Beside him was… No one. There was no one else besides them and the deafening rain. Stefan's knees hit the muddy ground, some of it splashing onto his suit and little droplets meeting his cheeks. So it was true. The patrolman hadn't lied.

Cole was gone.

His empty scotch glass meets the table with an unsatisfying _clunk_. He glances over at his equally empty scotch bottle with a grimace. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to keep him sane on nights like these. They were too nice to exist, and their niceness was imposed upon Stefan. He hated when he walked outside and all the couples were glued together; a lot of them had flowers. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. Perhaps it was because there was no room for him to enjoy them. Or maybe it was that he was hideously allergic to most flowers. But more than likely it was because it was a day like this that Cole had first kissed him, pulling back as if Stefan's lips were on fire. It was a night like this that Stefan can still see them curled up on his couch having drunkly fallen asleep to something shitty on the telly. 

Stefan curses and grabs his keys.

He isn't sure where he's going until he parks next to it. The stone letters carved onto the arch remind him: Cemetery. He lets his fingers linger on his keys still in the ignition. He licks his drying lips. He doesn't get out at first. Eventually, the claustrophobic feeling of being confined in his car all night gets him out. As he hears the click of the door shutting behind him, he thinks he can still go home. It's been three years since he's been - he went one year after the fact, decided it was too painful, and hasn't come back since. Yet here he is.

He picks off a flower from a budding tree as he walks in. It's been years, yet he knows the way like he's walked it his whole life. He walks with careful steps, like if he slips up he'll taint the grounds forever. He eventually makes it there. He stands, twirling the flower between his thumb and index finger. He lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and reads:

_Cole Phelps_  
1920-1947  
Requiem in pace 

That's all. No nice words. Just rest in peace in some fancy language Stefan could neither read nor speak. It wasn't enough. None of it ever was. 

"But here we are," Stefan finds himself saying. His voice is hoarse; he hasn't spoken in hours. He sniffs, the flower's pollen getting to him. He goes on: "Last time I came here I was bitter. I was angry you left so early, and without saying goodbye." A small laugh. "Now here I am, talking to your grave like you can hear me. Like maybe somehow, out there, you're not… Dead." The last word hangs onto his lips like a curse. He can feel unfamiliar tears coming on, and in some effort to stop them, he tosses the flower onto the ground and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

"You know, I thought maybe once I made homicide I could see you more. Dead bodies and drugs often turn up together, yeah?" He waits for the silence, like this was Cole answering. He frowns when nothing happens, even though he knows nothing ever would. "But I was wrong. You took on some German whore"--bitterness finds its way in, with a hint of jealousy--"and got yourself knocked down. I pretended not to care, y'know. But inside I was angry. Angry I could never keep up with you." He shuffles his feet, breaking his gaze to look onto the L.A. sky. "But it looks like you couldn't keep up with me." He laughs, "You could never survive without me anyway."

When he glances back down, the world seems to stop. He hears no sirens. No horns from angry drivers (no one can drive in L.A.). The only sounds were the way the breeze tickled the trees and Stefan's own even breathing. The flower rolls a bit over the dirt, not being able to keep up with the breeze. He lets out another shallow breath.

"I miss you," he whispers to the wind. He turns to leave, not realising the face looking over at him from a distance. 

\----

When Stefan wakes the next morning, his head hurts. He thinks it must either be from drinking too much the night before, or maybe that he let himself cry into his pillow like a teenage girl. He lifts his head and hisses at the sunlight. His sheets are a mess. He still has yesterday's suit on. He is evidently not prepared for the day. Duty calls, he thinks, and rolls from his bed, most of his bedding coming with him.

He stands in the shower a bit too long, letting the hot water rest his nerves. When he's done, he does indeed pick the suit that doesn't smell too much of dead bodies and shrugs it on. He's having some trouble tying his tie when he half stumbles into the kitchen. Upon looking up, he sees a new bottle of scotch sitting on his dining table. Next to it are two glasses, and if he squints, they look just bought. He reaches into his jacket to get his gun and curses silently when he realises he left it in his car. Of all the days, he thinks.

As he carefully makes his way into the kitchen, he can't help but notice there are no abnormal sounds. His fridge hums contently and the morning birds are singing their songs. There is nothing wrong in Stefan's apartment except for the daunting bottle of scotch and its friendly glass mates. He pretends it doesn't bother him as he leaves for work.

A broken coffee maker is staring him in the face. He has his favourite mug in hand, so ready to pour himself some morning liquid courage, and yet there's a giant "OUT OF ORDER" sign laughing in his face. He calls it a rude name and kicks it, thinking he'll make it pay later. He slumps into his chair and rests his empty mug on his desk. He finds himself spinning on it back and forth when Rusty Galloway walks in, face full of papers and a mug of coffee. Bastard. He probably broke it.

Without looking down, Galloway reads: "Bloated body floats onshore near the river. Minimal items on 'im, not even an ID." He lowers the papers, one eyebrow raised.

Stefan laughs. "So the Captain no longer graces us with his beautiful accent to tell who's died today anymore?" 

Galloway's eyes narrow. "This is homicide. He assumes we can all read, Bekowsky." Stefan rolls his eyes; Galloway was never good at getting jokes, or sarcasm for that matter. Cole, on the other hand… He shakes his head. Not the time to think about it.

"We better go check it out, then," Stefan says back, his voice uncharacteristically monotone. The last thing he really wants to look at is a dead body, especially a drowned dead body. 

And he's right. The man's already fat, but now his arms and legs stick out like a balloon animal. One of his eyes is still open, directly staring at Stefan, and he closes it with a shiver as Mal talks.

"…Simply drowning is an unlikely cause of death. He was dead before he hit the water."

"He what?" Galloway spits out, "Don't be ridiculous. How could you come to that?"

"There are bruises around his neck," Stefan comments, and Mal nods. 

"Other places too, obvious signs of struggle," Mal continues as Galloway mutters, " _Jesus_." 

Stefan kneels down, and though he doesn't want to, he takes a deep whiff. What meets his nostrils is old, like something that has been sitting out too long and has begun to grow mold. "He's been dead for a while." He says it without thinking, but finds Mal standing next to him.

Another nod. "Very good observation," he says, and Stefan's mind defaults to Cole again. He always got the praise. Mal's voice interjects, "Even though the water has influenced some, this man was well into rigor mortis before his body was dumped."

"Probably got sick of the smell," Galloway comments from afar, taking a puff of his cigarette. 

Stefan's brows furrow, ignoring Galloway's smug grin that he doesn't even have to see to know it's there. "But why have him show up now? He doesn't even have anything on him. We have no idea who he is."

Mal shuffles through his pockets. "True we have no idea who he is, but we did find this on him." Stefan stands, and is handed a very wet piece of paper. There are smudged ink marks on it, mostly in the center. Smaller marks are found near the bottom, but they could just be from the former. It drips as Stefan holds it.

"A note?" He remarks, reading Mal's face. As usual, he really can't.

The coroner shrugs. "Suicide, maybe. He does look like he was strangled with something."

"Wouldn't explain why he was dropped in the river." Or why there were no ligature marks, he thinks. 

Galloway struts up, and Stefan can't help but notice he gets sand on the man's face. "So do we have anything to go on, or are we basically just fishing out here?"

Mal acts like he doesn't register the sarcasm, or maybe doesn't realise it all together. "You could check missing person's reports," he offers, and walks off without a word.

"Nice guy," Stefan says to no one in particular. He isn't even sure if he's being sarcastic or not. A photographer snaps a photo. Someone calls down in awe of a dead man. Water lazily comes up and kisses the shore. Life goes on.

\----

Snooping around doesn't find them much. No missing persons reports. No wife clogging up the phone lines with her practiced misery. Water washed away a lot of the hard evidence. The case was pretty much a dead end. Whoever wanted the guy dead is gone, and the world doesn't seem to want him back. 

As Stefan pulls into his apartment complex, his remembers the bottle of scotch. He finds himself making sure his pistol in his jacket when he steps out, and then laughs at how ridiculous he's being. He must have forgotten how much he drank and maybe he had a bottle hidden around somewhere. It was his favourite scotch after all, and who else knows he likes it? There is an explanation for everything, he thinks, even this case. As the elevator goes up, he pulls out the slowly drying piece of paper found with the man. If he holds it up the light and squints his eyes real tight, he can start making out some words. At least, he thinks they're words. He gives up when the elevator's doors open. 

When he's done fiddling with the keys hidden deep inside his pant pocket, he shoves the key in and as he turns to unlock it, there is no click. Stefan blinks at it dumbly for a moment. He must have forgotten to lock it this morning. Not thinking too much of it, he swings the door open and steps in. The first thing he notices is that he got his shoes dirty. The second is that when he looks into the kitchen, the bottle of scotch has been opened. One glass sits with a modest amount in it, and the other is missing, yet there was too much gone to suggest the one glass is the only one with scotch in it. It takes him a minute to come to the conclusion, but when he does, he finds his blood pumping faster than usual: Someone is in his apartment. 

He delicately slips out of his shoes and reaches into his jacket, thankful he remembered his gun this time. As he tiptoes further into his apartment, he hears the buzz of the television. He distinctly remembers it being off this morning, and he tries to stay clam. When he reaches the table, he eyes the bottle carefully. Whoever opened it did so with care. It doesn't look tampered with, and if Stefan admits, the glass looks awfully tasty. He is pulled back into reality when he hears the tap of glass onto wood. When he turns, gun in hand, there is a figure sitting back onto his couch, the empty scotch glass resting next to the television. The news is on, and it's about the case he and Galloway are working on. 

"Hands up! Where I can see them!" Stefan barks, clicking back the safety of his gun to further state his intentions. The figure flinches, but does not turn around. Hands go up, though, and for this Sefan is thankful. "On the ground!" He orders next, and again the figure complies. 

Stefan makes his way over, not dropping his stance or letting his gaze leave the figure. The light of the telly is the only thing illuminating the room, and even though he is closer, the figure's head is down and he still can't make the face out. "In a short, quick sentence, I want you to tell me why you're here," he commands, his voice only slightly less aggressive. 

"I'd thought you'd like to have a few drinks," a familiar voice says. Stefan doesn't lower his gun and offers no answer, but the figure lifts its head. "I even brought your favourite scotch." Stefan barely has to see the face to know who it is. The tight grip on his gun is gone, and the words barely make it out before he's out: "C-Cole…?"

He wakes up to humming, and to an unfamiliar dip in his mattress. Before he makes any evidence of him being awake, he glances out the window. It's still dark out. If he listens closely, he can still hear the telly. Reality sets in, and Stefan leaps out of bed and crashes ungracefully into his closet. Both fists are up before he realises he's shirtless and, quite frankly, pant less besides his boxers. As both fists are up, he sees Cole Phelps siting on his bed, looking at him quizzically. 

Cole's face is a mess. He has a black eye on the left, and a severely cut lip. There is some sort of gash in his nose, and from here Stefan can't tell if it's broken or not. His hair has grown out quite significantly, and it now hugs the back of his neck. Some pieces cling to his cheeks. He licks one away. 

Stefan's fits drop. "You must be fucking kidding me," are all the words he can find. Cole's face deepens in confusion, and before he can respond Stefan adds: "Am I dead? I have to be. Why else would Cole-fucking-Phelps be sitting on my bed, humming like a Catholic school girl?" He rubs his face in frustration, and then points angrily to Cole. "Why _are_ you sitting on my bed? And why am I basically naked? And _why_ are you not dead!" He flings his arms up into the air. "I was at your funeral. I saw the casket, shit, I was at your grave!" He can feel himself getting hysterical, but all Cole does is slowly shake his head.

"Do you know why it was a closed casket funeral?" Cole offers quietly.

"Why." Stefan doesn't even make it a question.

Cole clears his throat. "They never found the - my - body."

Stefan sits on the edge of his bed. His head hurts. He hasn't had enough caffeine, and hasn't had any alcohol. The one shitty cup of coffee from the gas station could not have prepared him for this. Come to think of it, nothing could have prepared him for this. "Why now?" He asks, equally quiet.

Cole sounds confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Why now?" His voice picks up as he turns around. "It's been four years, Cole. Four fucking years. Why come crawling back now?"

"I need your help," Cole says honestly, and Stefan punches him in the nose.

\----

They're sitting at the table, Cole's hands holding a bag of ice to his face and Stefan's hand tightly wrapped around the glass of scotch. He gives it one big swig and even though it makes himself feel slightly sick, at least it's a tangible feeling. Looking at Cole now, he can't read his face. It might be because there's ice all over it, but it could also be that this Cole feels different. The way he regards Stefan like a shadow bothers him, and when he looks close, Cole is shivering.

"I think your nose will be fine," Stefan says, taking another sip of scotch.

Cole cocks his head, not removing the ice. "Sorry?"

"You're cold," Stefan observes, but he knows that's not it. "You're shivering."

"Oh." Cole says it matter-of-factly. He slowly lowers the ice, setting it gently on the table. Without looking up at Stefan, he begins to shake more violently. Stefan wants to reach out a hand, to touch him, but he's afraid he'd vaporize beneath him.

He makes it audible when he sets his glass down and Cole jumps, looking up. Stefan's face is unwavering. "You're not cold." Another simple statement, as if he's repeating something Cole had already said.

For the first time this night, for the first time in four years, Cole smiles. It's a painful smile, like doing so stretches scars long forgotten. It fades as soon as it comes and Cole says, "The case you're working on. You found a man today?"

Ignoring the fact that it's super fucking creepy he knows that, Stefan replies, "Yeah."

Cole shifts in his seat, and Stefan notices his nose is still a bright red. He must have hit harder than previously thought. "What did Mal have to say about it?" And Stefan laughs.

It's a guttural laugh, like it's been trapped in his lungs for days. It echoes off his apartment's walls, like he's still alone and Cole is just an apparition sent to tease him. "You pop up into my apartment after four years of being dead, and the first thing you want to talk about is case work?" He shakes his head as the laugh draws out. He nods his head at takes another sip of scotch. "You haven't changed at all have you, Golden Boy?"

The expression on Cole's face is both some form of happiness and surprise. Perhaps he didn't think Stefan would remember his nickname when this all began. But how could Stefan forget? There isn't anything about Cole he has forgotten. Where a smile begs at Cole's lips, a grimace comes instead. Stefan decides this is serious and he collects himself. "He said the guy was dead before he was shoved unceremoniously into the river." Another sip. "Poor sod."

"And the cause of death?" His voice cracks a bit at the end.

"Asphyxiation, most likely. Probably strangled, given that there are no ligature marks on his neck but there are distinct bruises." He lets himself look at Cole again, to really take him in. Besides the banged up face (which he only helped a bit with), it's the same exact Cole. Besides the outgrown hair, he's all there. The way his lips quiver when he's deep in thought. How he bounces his leg as well, probably not even aware he does it and more unaware it secretly always bothered Stefan. But not right now. In this moment, Cole is just here. He's just here and Stefan wants to touch him again, but instead pours himself more scotch. 

Cole nods after what seems like forever drenched in silence. "Did you find anything else about him? Name? Address?"

Stefan is skeptical now, but after some more scotch he cooly replies, "Nope."

"Anything else on his body?"

And Stefan is slightly annoyed now. He makes another thump as he sets his glass down, leaning over the table. "Is this guy your boyfriend? He's kind of fat, Cole."

The latter bats Stefan's hand that had been pointed in his face away. "He's not my boyfriend," Cole spits, and before Stefan can comment he adds, "Is that all you've found?"

Stefan sits himself back down. "Just a seriously wet note. Can't read a damn thing."

Cole sighs, something of relief, and his whole posture relaxes. He slumps in his chair, a hand going to rub his face, flinching when it meet his nose. Stefan only feels slightly bad. As he casually sips his scotch, Cole remains in silence. He thinks his former crime solving buddy might be asleep before Cole mumbles, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Stefan says immediately, without thought. He lets another silence befall them, listening instead to the way Cole is breathing, how it's still fast--uneven. "Is this guy causing you trouble?"

"Was," Cole mumbles, eyes closed.

Stefan nods, even though Cole can't see him. "Probably a good thing he ended up dead, then?"

"I knew he would," he replies. "I just needed to make sure no one knows who he is."

"Ah," Stefan mouths before confusion worms its way into his mind. "Wait, did you have someone kill him?"

Without opening his eyes, without even giving any other notice Cole replies, voice the most even all night, "I killed him myself."

It hits Stefan like a truck. He's been in homicide long enough to know how these things work. There's someone bothering you. Telling him to bugger off doesn't work. So, like all sane people in the world do, you get a hit out on him. You tell the killer to rid of anything that could link the person to some form of identity. You make sure he disappears, mostly to cover your ass. If that man gets found out, you're dead. If someone messes up… 

"We weren't supposed to find him," Stefan concludes.

Cole opens his eyes now, and sits up, nodding. "I made a mistake," he says, and ruffles his hair.

Stefan can't simply have enough scotch tonight. "So you die, and then become a professional serial killer. Gotta say Cole, I saw you going more for the old man knitter type."

"I did it for protection," Cole retorts, anger somewhere in there.

This piques Stefan's interest, though pretty much everything has tonight. "Protection from whom?"

"Everyone in this city, pretty much." When Stefan laughs under his breath, Cole continues: "All the people I wronged before. Mickey Cohen. Leland Monroe. _Roy Earle_." He spits the last name with venom, and hey, Stefan can't blame him.

"But you're dead, remember," Stefan says, and he flinches at the words. He still doesn't believe this is real.

Cole nods appreciatively. "That's what I intended."

Some scotch spits from Stefan's mouth. " _Intended_?" He can feel himself getting angry again, feels himself remembering that rainy night those years ago.

"I guess I owe you an explanation," Cole replies, rubbing his face again. When Stefan has that 'I'm going to punch you in the face again' look, Cole explains.

He tells of his days with arson. How in the span of just a few days he created more enemies than his whole time in the war. Stefan remembers the talks. Or, more accurately, the silence. They would go to the Blue Room, to watch Elsa and drink, but Cole would only do one of those things. Really, he did half of one. He would stare into his drink, as if it held all the answers. He speaks of Leland Monroe, of his scheme to undo the very foundation of L.A., with Roy's help (this doesn't surprise Stefan at all). About Ira, his old war buddy, how he burned all those houses. People. How Kelso killed him, but he knew the repercussions. He opened a Pandora's box of sorts, exposing everyone to all the little dirty secrets they kept under their pillows. He compromised the safety of all his friends, even his estranged wife and children. There was only one way to make sure they were safe. Only one sure way to disappear.

"You faked your own death," Stefan says, and Cole presses his lips into a hard line.

"The thing is," he starts, infinitely more quiet than before, "I didn't know if I was going to survive. I saw the wave coming, saw Kelso's hand, and decided I had enough. This was the end of the road." 

The reality sets on Stefan heavily and all at once. There a million words to say, he thinks, but he can't place a single one. How do you tell someone who unfortunately survived something you were glad? There really isn't one, Stefan thinks, so all he says is, "Why here?"

Cole offers a small laugh. "I don't trust anyone else."

This surprises Stefan. "Elsa?"

Cole shakes his head. "She found someone new." Stefan is only slightly annoyed he sounds sad about the fact. "As wonderful as she was to me, she'd expose me."

"Biggs?"

A sigh. "He's currently in the hospital. Got in a bad accident chasing someone during a case."

Stefan's fast running out of people. "Galloway…?"

A laugh this time. "Too drunk." There is a shared laugh, and it feels so good. Stefan missed the way they spoke like they were one and the same. How it was so fluid; so easy. Like they'd done this their whole lives. 

Their eyes meet when the laugh is over. Stefan's eyes dart all over, trying to decode Cole. He wants to know what happened during those years. How Cole managed, a ghost. He notices Cole doing the same. Both pairs of eyes studying this new person before them, but somehow the same person they knew all along. Their mouths open at the same time, some noise coming out, but they close immediately.

"Go ahead," Cole says awkwardly, beckoning Stefan with his hand.

Stefan is equally as awkward. "No, you go ahead. I'm too drunk to say anything sane anyway."

Cole smiles at the remark. "I don't think I care about being sane at this moment," Cole says and yeah. Stefan is way too drunk.

He clumsily drags himself over the table, taking the loose lappets of Cole's unbuttoned shirt to hoist him up, and presses his lips against the soft skin there. Cole doesn't flinch. He doesn't draw back, just hums into Stefan. It's soft--tender. There is no desperation on either end except for the need for comfort. Cole's hand makes its way into Stefan's matted hair, gripping the clumps gently with a touch Stefan almost forgot was possible. It's not the best coordinated kiss, and if Stefan is being honest he's only in a little pain. But it's worth it. Perhaps Cole really is here, and this isn't some sick dream that will end in Stefan flying up from his sheets, panting and sobbing.

As Stefan pulls away, Cole's lips remain open for just a moment before softly closing. There is another silence, but this time it feels natural. Stefan can't pull himself away from Cole's piercing blue eyes, the way they look into him like they know everything there is to know. When the silence is broken, it's not Stefan this time. It is a quiet whisper, and if there was anything else going on he wouldn't have heard it. It was careful, like the air could shatter if said too harshly. 

"I'm glad I survived." 

\----

Stefan goes into the station next day pretending that he just didn't spend the night with Cole Phelps. How, for several hours, they lay a tangle of limbs in his bed, their legs fighting for dominance with every slight roll or shift made. How when they woke, Cole placed the gentleness of kisses to Stefan's neck before rolling off the bed and into the shower. How Stefan had left Cole on his couch, the as of late not dead man holding a mug of coffee snuggly in his hands. Despite the fact that Stefan was not to trust a soul with Cole's actual whereabouts, it seemed like he belonged in a stupid sitcom, where when he got to work, he'd meet up with his old enemy and they'd go at it for seven hours before coming home to a nicely made dinner on the table.

"Hey there, Pole." Well he was right about one aspect. Roy Earle stands in his office, dangerously close to his desk even, cigarette in hand.

"You smell like cocaine whores," Stefan says, setting his briefcase down on his chair.

"I love you to, sweetheart," Roy says, pulling cigarette to mouth.

Stefan bites back all the insults he could throw and instead says, "Hollywood is another twenty minutes from here. You'll be late for work, _detective_."

"Actually," Roy says, his tone becoming dangerous, "I'm here on business."

Stefan stops pulling out his files. His blood freezes and he automatically assumes the worst. There was no way they could know Cole was alive. Hell, Stefan hasn't even known for a full twenty-four hours. So he plays it cool. He shifts his weight on either foot and clears his throat. "You'll probably want to talk to Donolley then." He flashes a smile before continuing to look busy.

Roy laughs, that fake, malicious laugh and shakes his head, his cigarette's ashes falling to the floor. "Could I not want to visit my favourite Pole?"

"Nope," Stefan says without thought, and is forever grateful when Galloway walks in the room.

He stops, files in hand, and looks between Stefan and Roy a few times before saying, "Am I interrupting something?"

Roy opens his mouth, but before any sound comes out of it Stefan says, "Not at all." He smiles cheekily and from his peripheral vision he sees Roy grimace.

"Well," Roy quips, "I guess I'd better get going." He makes an effort to put out his cigarette on a notepad sitting on Stefan's desk. He thinks to clean it later as Roy adds, "See you around, Bekowsky." Stefan really hopes he doesn't.

"What was that about?" Galloway asks as he hands Stefan the files he carried in.

Stefan shakes his head, "Nothing." He's not sure who he's trying to convince.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WROTE ANOTHER CHAPTER AND IT ONLY TOOK LIKE TWO YEARS

Stefan thinks about the dryness in Roy’s voice the entire day. He starts seeing faces in his coffee and eventually lulls out the drabble going around this mysterious body that was found yesterday. Stefan grips the note they found tightly in his fist inside his pant pocket. Of course he already knew what had happened with the floating man, but he didn’t know the full extent. Galloway is arguing with another detective about possible motive or if this was part of a serial killer. 

“What serial killer?!” The other detective shouts.

Galloway flings his arms up in the air, and Stefan can see his slightly stained dress shirt isn’t quite all the way tucked in. “I don’t know! A new one maybe?”

The other detective scoffs. “Just because you got lucky that one time with Phelps doesn’t mean every new killing is some secret under cover serial killer,” the detective says, putting up air quotes when the says “serial killer”. Cole’s name brings Stefan back if only for a moment, and then his heart begins to race again.

It doesn’t stop for the rest of the day.

Stefan is thankfully able to dodge Roy the rest of the day and makes a beeline for his car when everyone else goes home. Usually he’d stay and pour over more paperwork, maybe look into this new case more, but everything he needed (and maybe more wanted) was back in his apartment. The thought strikes both relief and terror in his mind. He wasn’t sure if everyone always said Cole’s name this much, or if he was just realising it for the first time since he di—went missing. Stefan sits in his car, his briefcase tossed forgotten in the passenger seat, and stares at the sky. It was becoming dark, not just because of night, but because there were ominous clouds peering down at him. 

_A storm is brewing_ , Stefan thinks, and starts his car.

He’s beginning to feel normal when he steps into the apartment building, more himself, and suddenly Roy’s sudden interest in his life is gone. As he presses the button for the elevator, a suited man briskly walks up beside him. Stefan glances over to see small droplets of water sprayed unevenly on his shoulders. The man shivers like a dog who has gotten soaked, and tips his hat to Stefan. 

“A storm’s brewing,” the man says, and there goes Stefan’s heart again.

When all Stefan does is smile, the man seems to acknowledge he has no interest in idle chatter. On any normal day, Stefan would have made some sly remark, maybe insulted the man’s wife (and they usually didn’t even have one) and they would both laugh, but it wasn’t a normal day. A dead man was sitting in Stefan’s apartment, and he was just keeping him locked up like a rabid dog. Stefan doesn’t even notice the suited man questioning if he was coming in or not, and when he looks up he sees the elevator made it down, and swiftly walks in.

If the suited man wasn’t already weirded out by Stefan’s mindlessness, he certainly was now. The whole elevator ride up he stared him down, and suddenly he felt naked. Whenever he darted a glance the man would turn away, sometimes whistling. He was relieved when the elevator came to a stop, but realised it was the floor his apartment was on.

“Going the same floor, eh?” The suited man asks, but Stefan won’t answer. He suddenly feels like throwing up.

Thankfully the man starts down the opposite end of the hallway, and Stefan finds himself almost running to his door. He fumbles with his keys and curses the locksmiths when he can’t get the door open the first try. When he finally does, he goes into his apartment with the same force a man would jump over an alligator. He can’t help but slide down to the floor when he’s finally inside.

_Safe_ , Stefan thinks, and he feels even calmer when Cole strolls around the corner.

His hair is still a mess and beard untrimmed, but it appears he did actually take a shower. He’s wearing one of Stefan’s casual white t-shirts and some looser fitting pants. Cole stares at him, brows furrowed and then raised, but he makes no motion to help Stefan up.

“Were you on the elevator alone today?” Cole asks, and Stefan wonders why he even missed him.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m doing well, too, how are you?” He grunts as he stands and Cole moves back, honestly looking confused. He appears to have lost his ability to understand sarcasm. Before he can give some confused puppy dog response Stefan rubs the bridge of his nose. “No, I wasn’t, some other guy was in with me. Why does it matter?” He adds the last question almost desperately. He doesn’t know if he can take someone else suddenly questioning his life.

Cole doesn’t take the hint. “I watched his car park. It looked… Familiar.”

Stefan is first really freaked out Cole is watching people from his window before he becomes panicked. “You can’t be looking out the window like that,” Stefan blurts, but it comes out more angry than concerned. 

Cole squints at Stefan. “Why not?” He asks, like a child asking why he can’t get just five more dollars for the arcade.

“Because…” Stefan starts, his heart beating faster, “Because what if someone sees you?” His voice cracks at the end. The sensation of puking is coming back.

“Stefan, I’m perfectly safe no one know—”

“ _Roy knows something_ ,” Stefan says desperately and manages to control himself from reaching out and shaking Cole. 

As if Stefan has done just that, Cole steps away and regards Stefan with a worried expression. “What exactly happened today?” Cole asks.

Stefan goes to sit at his kitchen table but notices Cole makes no attempt to follow him. As Stefan sits he realises he left his briefcase in his car, but doesn’t think it’s important enough to get. He breathes out a heavy sigh, and says: “Roy was in my office today. Suddenly seemed to want to talk to me.” Cole comes to sit now and motions silently for Stefan to go on. “He has talked to me maybe twice since you d—went missing.” He has the urge to reach out and touch Cole, but doesn’t. “For him to suddenly pop up I don’t think is mere coincidence.” He sighs and looks at Cole with hopeful eyes but doesn’t say anything else.

“I see,” Cole says quietly and stares at the hand Stefan rests on the table, “What did he ask exactly?”

Stefan sighs again. “Said he was there on business. I essentially told him to piss off.”

Cole nods. “So then maybe it just was that?” He asks, standing again.

Stefan doesn’t move. In fact, he feels like sitting there forever. He feels like he just went a little crazy, a little overboard. The way Cole posed the question was so nonchalant, so calm that it seemed insane for Stefan to think the sudden visit meant anything else. He just realises he’s sweating when he comes back into focus and sees Cole standing directly in front of him.

“I’m scared,” Stefan says suddenly. Cole stares, lips into a line.

“Of what?” Cole asks quietly.

“Of losing you,” Stefan says and thinks _again_.

Cole smiles, but says nothing to reassure Stefan he is here to stay. And just as Cole was before, he asks, “What was the man like in the elevator?”

Stefan puts the panicking thoughts in the back of his mind and clears his throat. “He seemed a little wired.”

“Was he high?” Cole asks.

Stefan shakes his head. “No, I think he was a little freaked out by me.”

Cole’s calm expression vanishes and what takes its place makes Stefan almost afraid. He decides to elaborate to maybe help that expression glaring down at him along, “I mean, I was a little out of it. A little spooked from earlier, so I was sort of not saying anything to the guy and almost missed getting on the elevator. He kinda just stared at me after that.”

“What did he say to you?” Cole’s voice is hoarse and quiet.

Stefan is sweating again. “He just commented that we lived on the same floor.”

If Cole was pale and brooding before, his face might as well be see through. Stefan wasn’t convinced it wasn’t; the blood all seemed to run out of it, so much Stefan could actually see it if he looked hard enough. “How tall was he?” And Stefan can’t help but laugh.

Cole doesn't laugh. He stares Stefan down with a grim frown, like a father would to a child who just shat on the floor. He rubs his lips together and leans on the table, wiping his forehead. "I feel like I need to explain some more things," Cole says. 

"I wish you would," Stefan swiftly replies, suddenly looking around for his trusty scotch. Cole begins to regale his wonderful tales of beyond death just as Stefan spots it on the stove. 

"Remember how I told you I screwed everyone over in L.A.?" Coles asks. Stefan nods as he practically leaps for his salvation on the stove, ignoring the thought that tells him he's an alcoholic. Cole continues, "They figured I had connections... That other people knew what was going on and what I had done." He clears his throat. "Well they were right. It wasn't just me." 

Stefan takes a deep drink of scotch directly from the bottle. _Alcoholic_ , he thinks. "Are the other people Kelso and Biggs?" 

Cole nods, "Elsa too. They were all involved. I thought dying would make them safe, but I was wrong." Stefan chokes on his scotch when Cole mentions dying, but says nothing. "I think they know I'm alive," Cole says desperately. "I don't know how, but I think they do." 

Stefan thinks back to Roy and shivers. "So what do I have to do with it?" He asks, pouring a glass of scotch and sliding it over to Cole. He is both surprised and not surprised at all when Cole drinks the whole glass in one gulp.  

Cole shakes his head. "I'm not sure, and that's what scares me." There is a small silence only filled by now Cole pouring himself more scotch. 

Stefan regards Cole carefully. Stefan’s clothes clearly don’t fit him and it’s obviously because Cole is impossibly thin now. The shirt he wears falls loosely over him and if Stefan looks more it appears that Cole is wearing not just one but two belts in a desperate attempt to keep his pants on. When Stefan looks back at Cole’s face, it’s red and slightly puffy. If he knew any better, Stefan would think Cole was crying but Cole doesn’t cry. 

Maybe this new Cole does.

“Phelps,” Stefan says, and his use of Cole’s last name juts the latter back into real time. “I think I’ll be okay.” He mock toasts Cole with his glass to make the point.

Cole trembles slightly and breathes only through his nose, “Your lock was too easy to open.” And Stefan wants to punch that face again.

Instead he glares at his glass like it’s its fault for sending Stefan’s life into a downward spiral. He finds he has no real rebuttal for that, so he changes the subject. “You asked how tall the guy was in the elevator. Do you know him?” He looks back up at Cole’s face, and thankfully it’s not as red this time.

“I don’t know. I think. His face looked familiar.”

A silence falls between them again. Cole is still standing, still shivering, and Stefan is still looking at him dumbly in his chair. He thinks he has lost his ability to be an ass around Cole. He’s sure he should have some joke stuffed in the recesses of his mind, but the script is coming out blank. The truth is no case he and Cole had ever taken on was quite this… Relevant. Sure Stefan cared about the people he helped, cared more about making Cole at peace, but nothing was ever this in-their-face. Stefan doesn’t know what to say, and he’s positive it isn’t because he’s drunk. If anything, the scotch has made his mind clearer but perhaps still slightly hazy. It’s the latter that makes him stand so fast the chair topples behind him, and he takes one easy step to wrap his arms tightly around Cole. 

At first Cole’s fists go up as if to deck Stefan squarely in the back, but instead of crushing his vocal cords, they just hang in the air. Stefan has his face buried in Cole’s neck and breathes in. He smells like Stefan’s soap and sheets, and the shitty laundromat he goes too when he doesn’t want to think about how to wash clothes. There’s a woman there that does it for him for a dime, and hey Stefan is still cheap at heart. But that woman didn’t matter now, wasn’t even in the forefront of his mind. Cole was still there, leaving no room for Stefan to think of anything else. 

It’s when Stefan is lost in thought that Cole returns the hug, and shoves his face into Stefan’s shoulder. They were always the perfect height to fit together. Neither was impossibly taller or shorter than the other, and Stefan used to joke they were puzzle pieces and shit like that. Cole always smiled even though Stefan knew he did not find it funny or cute one bit, but if Stefan said it now he thinks Cole would appreciate it, maybe even laugh. Yet he was still stuck in Cole’s shoulder, breathing in the fabric of his shirt.

——

They’re sitting on Stefan’s bed when the thought pops back into his mind. He searches his pant pocket until he finds the same distant piece of paper found on the body and glances at it once more before saying anything. He thinks it’s been more damaged from being shoved in Stefan’s pocket these past two days, but hands it over to Cole anyway. Cole doesn’t take it, just furrows his brow at it.

“This was found on your boyfriend,” Stefan says and waggles it. Cole ignores the comment and Stefan is honestly a little insulted. When Cole says nothing Stefan continues: “I’ve been looking at it over and over again trying to figure out if it has any significance. I figured my little secret helper could tell me.”

Cole takes it now, snatches it almost, and lifts it up to the light just how Stefan did. His brows are still furrowed in that ‘I am thinking’ look he always got and his lips start rubbing together. Stefan remembers when these jesters used to pry at his patience, but it was these little mannerisms that he eventually came to love. They were just another part of what made Cole himself.

“It’s very damaged,” Cole states and before Stefan can retort Cole goes on, “But I remember him being handed this by someone I was trying to track down.” Stefan looks at the paper then back at Cole, hoping his silence works as acknowledgement. It does. “It’s something like…” He turns the paper sideways and cocks his head along with it. “It’s instructions.”

Stefan doesn’t pretend he knows how Cole even found that out. Superb detective skills, he thinks. “Instructions for what?” He asks, and suddenly regrets it with the look Cole gives him.

“How to kill you.” 

Apparently Stefan’s sense of humour has gone fucking awol because he starts to laugh uproariously. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s gotten so many death threats over the years, or maybe it’s some fucked up way of Stefan coping with the fact that he’s possibly closer to death than he had been when that crazy mistress pulled a gun at him. She was trying to defend herself for killing her man, but the irony seemed to be lost on Stefan. Even so, he had detained her easily, easily enough she couldn’t even figure out how to shoot the gun, but it still sat heavy upon Stefan for months. It took a lot of alcohol and cigarettes (he didn’t even like cigarettes) to shake that feeling. He thinks even if he did a pound of cocaine now it wouldn’t shake the dread that’s starting to descend upon him. 

Cole frowns. “I fail to see how this is amusing, Stefan.” 

Stefan bats his hand in the air as he lets out a final laugh. “Yesterday and today are so beyond fucked I’m not even sure if you’re real.” Cole looks heartbroken about the whole thing. He looks down at the bed, resting the matted piece of paper on the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely audible.

Stefan snorts. “For what?”

“For what I did.” Cole shudders like he’s just let out a deafening scream, but no noise comes out. “For putting you through all that grief.”

Stefan thinks about when he visited Cole’s grave. He thinks about sitting in the back of the funeral, the last cigarette he swore to smoke in his hand. Cole never liked the smell very much, always clenched his teeth when the smoke from any cigar or cigarette blew in his face, so Stefan swore to quit, to somehow bring closure on the whole thing. Too bad it was just opened again.

Any sane person would probably hit him upside the back of the head and start to ramble and scream about he damn well better be sorry, that what he did was selfish and wrong. There were two things, though. One was that Stefan was far beyond being sane. The other was that he doesn’t think it was selfish. Selfless, maybe. He tries to think about willfully dying, fake or not. He really can’t.

“You don’t need to be,” Stefan finally says, even quieter than Cole. “I’m just glad you’re…” _Not dead_. “Here now.”

Cole mumbles something Stefan thinks was supposed to be “thanks” and then sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose and lifts the paper back up. “They had a system. They were to go around and systematically take everyone I knew out. To make sure there were no loose ends.”

Stefan nods, wondering how long these people have been watching him. “So that pool floaty was supposed to be the one to kill me?” The question is absurd, but no less valid.

Cole grimaces and Stefan wonders how long it will take until Cole tells him to cut the crap. He never did before so Stefan thinks he’s okay. Cole just slowly nods and rubs the crumpled and probably forgotten piece of paper between is thumb and index finger. Stefan is suddenly remembering Cole killed that man, and he thinks about if he’s ever killed anyone. He thinks maybe once or twice and they definitely had it coming and okay so did this guy but it was so… Brutal. The curious part of Stefan wants to ask how Cole did it, but when he looks at Cole’s equally crumpled face he thinks he better not. 

Instead he takes the piece of paper from Cole’s hand and tosses it on the floor. Cole tries to dive for it like it was a piece of gold but Stefan snatches his wrist before he makes it over the bedside. He draws Cole back up enough that his forehead is pressed against Stefan’s and just stares. Stefan hasn’t let go of his wrist yet and Cole isn’t protesting either. “Let’s forget about this whole mess for a minute,” Stefan says in a low tone. He can feel his heart start to beat faster and finally it’s not because he’s afraid for his life.

Cole nods against his forehead but says nothing. Stefan takes his free hand and cups Cole’s chin, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. He stares at Cole’s parted lips, remembers when he had this all to himself before, and closes the distance. He’s pretty sure Cole was expecting the kiss to happen but he still jumps slightly nonetheless. Stefan brings his free hand to clutch at the hair at the base of Cole’s neck and pushes him down so he’s laying flat. He lowers the hand that is still firmly wrapped around Cole’s wrist so it too is on the bed flat and parts their lips; Cole willingly complies. 

When the kiss breaks Stefan sees that Cole’s pupils are dilated enough he can hardly see the piercing blue that normally consumes them. He wonders what his look like. Cole shifts his weight so that he’s pressing up against Stefan and the sensation goes right to Stefan’s dick. He can’t help but shiver at the sensation and suddenly feels ridiculous grinding himself against a man he thought was dead not even two days ago. He knows he probably should be doing literally anything else than this, should even be working on the case Cole has suddenly become a part of, but then there’s the side of Stefan that doesn’t care. Perhaps it’s the whisky, maybe even a desperate attempt to ignore the fact that several people want him dead, but most of all it’s just Cole. Cole-fucking-Phelps, the golden boy, the man who knew it all; who knew too much. He was under Stefan, his warmth almost overwhelming, and just to hear him was enough to make Stefan not really care if he died tomorrow.

“Stefan,” Cole suddenly gasp and writhes under Stefan’s grip on him.

Stefan hardly registers Cole says anything, so consumed by pure need, and plants his lips firmly on Cole’s neck. He parts his lips only to suck and the response Cole gives him is breathtaking. He wriggles, presses himself even farther into Stefan (like that was even possible) and moans. Stefan is a little embarrassed at how close he is already and tries to attribute it to the fact that just jacking off was getting old.

He lets go of Cole’s wrist and shoves his fingers into the waistband of Cole’s—Stefan’s?—pants and tugs. Cole arches his back, looks into Stefan’s eyes and gives the most desperate kiss Stefan thinks he has ever given a person. Stefan responds immediately, trying to get his hand farther down on Cole and silently cursing he ever let the man wear pants.

It’s when Cole is fumbling with his belts and Stefan is pressing kisses to his neck that neither realise the suited man breaking into Stefan’s car.


	3. Chapter 3

Stefan wakes up with Cole wrapped around him. He can feel Cole’s breath on his neck and his hands jolt every now and again. Stefan knows that at some point he’s going to have get and up and leave for work. He sighs and gives Cole a courtesy push and when he doesn’t respond he tactically rolls off from Cole’s grip. He looks down, looks at how peaceful Cole looks, with his too-long hair falling down over his cheeks. _Innocent_ , Stefan thinks, and goes to get ready.

He’s made it out his apartment building, tie still undone under his collar, eating a stale piece of bread. Casually strolling to his car he realises that something’s off. He can’t really pinpoint what it was, but his car looked different, although there were no new scratches or dents (which he thinks is pretty lucky since he was in Los Angeles). It’s after he gets up to his window, keys in hand, that he sees the nature of the destruction.

His bag has been close to completely torn apart; paper is everywhere. His badge sits dumbly on the passenger seat, his stupid grin mocking him. Without completely breaking out into a panic he tries to remember how he left his car yesterday. Had he been going through his bag? Did he misplace something? He really doesn’t think so and reluctantly opens the door, and realises there is in fact a dent in the frame. Shit. Someone broke into his car.

He should probably get it fixed. Shit…

 _Shit_. He feels a panic setting in. _Someone broke into his car_. His eyes widen. Cole. He breathes in sharply.

More than likely just as crazily as the person who initially broke into his car was, Stefan grabs his bag viciously and starts to rip through it himself. There were boring copies of parking tickets (he had a bad habit of doing traffic’s job), receipts for dry-cleaning, and some unlucky lottery tickets. A cigarette pack with only three left in it—he was sure he had five—stared at him, thrown carelessly next to some old case files. With shaking hands he tries to calm himself while he picks through the papers. He can find everything but the case he had just started with Galloway. The case of the dead man in the river… Of Cole… So not only is Cole’s life in danger, but he was down two cigarettes. 

_Shit._

———— 

Cole stares at him, coffee mug in hand, holding the daily newspaper in the other. Stefan stares back, his tie forgotten on the floor of his car, and his hair a mess. He had been dragging his fingers through it, definitely bringing out strands as he thought. He still doesn’t have his thoughts all together.

“Someone broke into my car,” he finally says as he catches his breath.

Cole huffs and looks off to his side. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“ _Cole_ ,” Stefan stresses, “I would appreciate if you would take these things more seriously.”

Cole huffs again, setting his mug down on the kitchen table and glances at Stefan with his lips slightly pursed. It’s an invitation for Stefan to be more “serious”. “They took my notes for the case. For your case. Of the… Dead guy.” _Murder victim_.

He can see Cole’s pupils dilate in concentration. His eyes dart around the room like he’s reading invisible text splayed in front of him. He gnaws at his lower lip and taps his fingers on the table. Finally he sighs. “I should have never come here.” Stefan has that urge to punch him again. “I’ve put you in too much danger already”—he laughs—“and to think I was trying to lessen the threat.”

Stefan doesn’t move but he loses his fear and replaces it with unmatched sadness. The look of conflicting emotions in Cole’s eyes is obviously breaking the man. The most obvious is guilt, but he also sees relief as well. He thinks first on how he definitely couldn’t fake his death and even more coming back. How could he face everyone? Would he feel like a ghost?

“Of course you should have come back,” Stefan whispers low, but he knows Cole can hear him. “We’ll figure this out together. I promise.” He moves now, calculated, and takes Cole’s wrist. He rubs his thumb over the bone there and lets Cole sit in silence. He’s about to break it when Cole suddenly whips his head to meet Stefan’s eyes. 

“Do you have a lady’s bra anywhere?”

“ _What_?”

The dent in Stefan’s door rattles all the way to the station and he tries his best to ignore it. If cars could laugh, he thinks his would be laughing right now. “You look ridiculous,” Stefan mumbles.

Cole adjusts his breasts— _God_ , why—and sneers. “I don’t know what’s more impressive, the fact that you actually had this laying around or how uncomfortable you are.”

Stefan neglects to tell Cole that the bra (and the dress he thinks) came from a cheap prostitute he ordered when he thought that getting over Cole was possible. “I don’t see how this was the logical option,” he grumbles under his breath and Cole laughs breathlessly. He’d say it almost felt like how it did all those years ago, but then again Cole is in a dress. With lipstick on. And heels. “I’m just thinking you actually want to be a woman.” When he turns his head to look Cole in the eye they both burst into laughter, Stefan almost crashing the car in the process.

“Just say whatever you need to make this work,” Cole says as he gets out of the car at the station. Stefan notices his fear and pure terror, and squeezes his shoulder in an effort of comfort.

“Come on, darlin’,” he smirks, and guides Cole into the station.

It’s just a usual Friday with officers and detectives alike running around like blue arsed flies. Everyone wants to go home early, or on time for a change, and the results are weekly chaos. Cole follows delicately on heels, brushing his hair behind his ear. They had stopped by a sex shop of all places to get Cole a wig and some cheap lipstick. The man at the counter had just silently scanned their items, Cole staring him down in a stuffed bra and dress. It was all so ridiculous.

“Why can’t you just wear a fake moustache and some gross clothes,” Stefan had insisted at the shop. “Isn’t that easier?”

“The whole of Los Angeles knows me as a man, Stefan. This way I assume a completely different identity,” Cole has explained like it made perfect sense. To top it off he donned a small fashion scarf, insisting it made the woman facade that much more believable. Stefan was going to set a face wiping record for the century by the close of the day.

Stefan chooses to walk behind Cole, noticing how the latter stumbles every time there’s a small incline. The uneven floors of the station didn’t make it much better, and Stefan catches his arm more than a few times. Regular patrolman and the various women working the typewriters seem to pass by without much incident, and it only becomes an issue when someone bumps into Cole’s “boob”. She looks at him with squinted eyes, but Stefan scurries them off quick enough without incident. Stefan is sure they’ll be safe once he gets to his office.

He’s wrong.

Galloway lazing over his desk isn’t a newfound sight, but Roy having the audacity to sit in his fucking chair is another thing altogether. Stefan hitches so much in his breath he jumps. Panic overtakes him and he swirls suddenly, bumping right into Cole who was momentarily glued to his back. Stefan rests his hands on Cole’s and gives a small push to beg for the two of them to leave. Cole presses his lips into a line and swiftly shakes his head once as he turns Stefan around and through the doorway.

As a result Stefan more stumbles in than walks, with Cole strolling in prim and proper after. When Stefan looks up he can’t tell what the look in Cole’s is, but it looks violent either way. He’s tightening his tie when he hears a whistle.

“Didn’t realise we were allowed to bring our one night stands to work,” Roy chimes. That insistent smirk shines on Stefan and he wants to shoot it off.

“I thought I told you we had nothing to discuss,” Stefan says instead, shooting a nasty glare at Galloway. The latter just raises his hands and shakes his head, stepping away from Stefan’s desk.

Roy stands, but makes no move closer to Stefan. Still, on impulse Stefan backs closer to Cole. With that damned smirk not even hinting at fading Roy says, “Who said I was here on business, Bekowsky? It’s looking a lot more like pleasure with that broad standing behind you.” Roy pulls to light a cigarette. “What’s your name anyway, sweetheart?”

Cole opens his mouth to speak but Stefan is quicker, “She can’t speak.” Cole gives him an incredulous look while other two men just stare, eyebrows raised. “I-it’s a uh… Genetic thing. Inflamed vocal cords and all that,” Stefan tries to say as casually as possible. Roy takes a puff of his cigarette.

“Right, so you just fuck her cause she can’t say no?” Roy laughs, “Didn’t think you were that cruel, Bekowsky.”

Rusty has the nerve to share the laugh while Cole claws at Stefan’s wrist in an undoubtably attempt to not shoot Roy himself. Stefan has to admit he doesn’t really see a downside to it at the moment. In one of those please-understand-what-I’m-getting-at moments, Stefan just blurts out, “She can obviously communicate in other ways, asshole.”

“Oh?” Roy laughs again, “Humour me.”

Stefan rubs his face. He’s already lost count of how many times he’s done it already. “How about I inquire about the drug business, Earle?” Roy glares at him through a cough. “Exactly, so stay out of my life and I’ll stay out of yours. Now screw off, both of you.”

Galloway walks out without incident, but Roy stays. “Fine, sure, I’ll go for now. You never told me why your slut is here, though.” He nods to Cole, who is remarkably able to stay quiet.

“I said she can’t speak, not that she’s deaf,” Stefan says through clenched teeth. “Besides, doesn’t everyone wanna have some fun in their office with a hot date?” Stefan swings Cole around and pulls him tight, reaching down and grabbing his ass. His raises his brows at the suddenly uncomfortable Roy. “If you’re gunna watch, I’m gunna have to charge you.”

Roy puts his cigarette out on one of the paper’s on Stefan’s desk, the cheeky bastard. Probably did it on purpose. “Oh, no, allow me to grant you with the gracious gift of privacy,” Roy says as he walks towards the door. Stefan doesn’t move, just follows Roy with the turning of his head. “Have fun you two. Oh, and don’t worry sweetheart, I hear Bekowsky here is a gentle lover.” He gives a wink before shutting the door behind him and shouting off to someone in the distance.

“That last bit was inappropriate,” Cole says into Stefan’s chest where he is still planted to.

Stefan snorts. “Got us some ‘leave us the fuck alone’ time didn’t it though?”

Cole makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “You can let go of me now, you know,” he says. He wiggles his hips. “All of me, if you don’t mind,” he says lower.

Stefan tries his best not to flail as he lets go. “Sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly.

Cole shrugs, slipping off his wig and itching the real hair there. “Can’t say I wasn’t glad to see Roy leave,” he replies in an attempt to steer the conversation onwards.

Stefan goes to sit at his desk, ignoring how even more ridiculous Cole looks now without the wig. “How can you stand to see him without breaking his neck?”

Cole looks down as a he pathetically exhales something akin to a laugh. “Four years of never coming near him again makes it easier. If I had seen him right after my staged death, it might be different.”

Stefan shivers. He can’t stand how easily Cole speaks of it. “He did the eulogy at your funeral,” Stefan says.

“I’m aware,” Cole says, tapping his foot. “I was able to hear about his _sincerity_ while I tried to find out if my death was successful.”

In an effort to not think about the matter anymore, Stefan averts his attention the file cabinet underneath his desk. “This is where I store all the noteworthy cases I’ve gone through,” he explains, pulling out a rather large file. “This bad boy was one Galloway and I came in on halfway through, after they found out one of the previous detectives was stalling the case on purpose.”

“Why would he do that?” Cole asks as he takes the file.

Stefan shrugs. “They say he was trying to protect someone involved, but the captain was pretty hush-hush about the whole thing. Just told us to wrap it up best we could.”

He hears Cole hum in concentration, something else he took for granted when they could do this work under normal conditions. Stefan wonders idly if that would ever be possible again. “Why show me this one, then? It looks like just a missing person case.”

“It was,” Stefan comments, “But it just all didn’t add up to me. Months of scouring details and documents, calling relatives, past wives, even enemies, and nothing. Not a pip. It’s like he just evaporated out of thin air.”

Cole nods, still rifling through the papers. “Until…?”

“Until,” Stefan sits up straighter, “I was able to connect him to this super unground drug ring of some sorts. Then weirder shit started to come up, like him having multiple names and even weirder shit like varying eye colours. It didn’t make any sense.”

“Seems here his name was Nathan Marley,” Cole comments.

Stefan scoffs. “That was the name given by what at the time was his current wife. I managed to collect all the names he could have gone by, based on witness account and being able to trace some of his steps. The list of names should be in there somewhere.”

“Doesn’t make it any clearer to me why I’m looking at it, though,” Cole says as he digs through the file.

“Well, I figure you’re my little informant. Maybe you recognise one of the names, that’s all.” He leans back in his chair again, watching Cole’s brows furrow and spread apart over and over. 

Finally, it seems like Cole finds the names. He sets the rest of the folder down and reads the names carefully, even mouthing them out. Stefan is about to comment on how yeah, he couldn’t pronounce half of them either when Cole suddenly pushes the paper in front of his face. “This name,” Cole explains, “Kenneth Winters. Some of the men I was hunting mentioned this name.”

Stefan lowers the slip. “Hunting?”

Cole waves his hand. “I explained my systematic takedown already, Stefan. But this man—“

Stefan takes Cole’s waving wrist and pulls him down so they’re both at eye level. Cole stares at him impatiently. “Cole, how many of these men have you killed?”

Cole’s breath on Stefan’s face smells slightly like cherries. “Not enough. There are still plenty out there and they’re going to start t—“

“Were you doing it alone this whole time?” Stefan looks into the piercing blue. 

“I had no choice,” Cole replies. “I couldn’t risk involving anyone.”

Stefan wonders what it must have been like, what all the work was like to do it alone. How lonely it was, and how the only time he got interactions with anyone was to kill them. It was easy for Stefan to ignore the obvious difficulties of the job, but there was something so much more personal, so much more raw about being the one that created murder cases instead of solving them. Remembering Cole before this mess, the calm and caring Cole. The one that literally once helped an old woman across the street. Did he still exist under the hard shell?

“Cole,” Stefan whispers, “You’re not alone anymore.” He leans to press a soft kiss to Cole, ignoring the ridiculous lipstick, and brings his hands to cradle Cole’s face. Cole kisses softly back, pressing his lips hard onto Stefan’s before lifting off carefully.

“I know,” Cole whispers back, and kisses Stefan again, leaning into him on the chair, grabbing at the sides of his head like Stefan had. Stefan moves his hands down Cole’s back as their lips part and close again, the only sounds obvious to them being shuffling fabric and kissing. 

———— 

Stefan had agreed—albeit reluctantly—to help track down the remaining men for Cole. The way Cole had explained it, there was a network of men that were directly tied to Roy and the convoluted way more complicated than Stefan thought scandal with Leland Monroe. Cole spoke of the whole thing matter-of-factly and didn't seem too perturbed at the thought that he was the one that opened Pandora's box. Stefan seems to remember in the original story the guy who did regretted it almost right after. The only thing Cole seems to regret, and he mentions it often, is putting Stefan at "immediate risk" as he says. Maybe it was the overjoy of having Cole back, but Stefan doesn't really give a shit. 

Every once in a while, in the middle of the night, Cole will shiver as if he's in subzero temperatures with nothing but his briefs on, despite the fact that he was underneath layers of blankets and usually pressed up against Stefan. He refuses to speak of the four years he was gone, shuts it down like he always has the war, and always gets the same heavy look in his eyes as he remembers. Sometimes Stefan reaches out to comfort, but there are times were the air is too tangible, too raw that all he can find himself doing is taking a deeper drink and pretending like this was the same Cole. 

Only it wasn't, and he knows that. He wonders idly if this is how Cole was like after he was shipped home from Japan, and wonders even still how long it took for Cole to process it all. It's a rainy Saturday afternoon when Stefan wonders out loud about it. 

"I told you I don't talk about the war," Cole mutters, staring across the dining table. 

"I think you owe me something after making me think you were dead for four years," Stefan replies coolly. "You know during that time all I could think about were the things I never got to ask you. All the things I still didn't know about." 

Cole turns his head, hiding his expression from Stefan. "There's a reason for it, Stefan." 

Stefan scoffs under his breath. "I've shared various mucus membranes with you, Cole. I know even weirder shit like your blood type and how you like wider shoes even though your feet are slim because it makes it easier to run." 

"What's my blood type then?" 

"AB minus, because you always have to be so mysterious," Stefan answers without a beat. 

Even with his head turned Stefan can see a smile creep its way onto Cole's face, but when he turns it makes itself into a frown. "Was the mucus membranes comment necessary?" 

Stefan rolls his eyes. "Yes, Mother Mary." He watches Cole drink what he thinks to be five-hour old coffee in hushed silence. "You're avoiding the topic, Cole." 

The grip on Cole's mug becomes tighter. "Did I really hurt you that badly?" 

Stefan sighs, knowing that Cole will steer the conversation away every time like he had done years previously. "How could you know? You already ditched me, and I can see where you thought I wouldn't really give a damn if you died." It's true. After Cole left traffic they just grew farther apart. It would be months between when Stefan heard from him, and even those times were never tender. When they were partners (the irony was never lost on Stefan) they would spend days; nights, even together. But everything changed when Cole made it to vice. Everyone has their vices, Stefan had thought, and Cole's was German whores. He tries to hide his grimace at the thought. 

As if Cole could read damn minds he says, "I betrayed you." 

Stefan laughs. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?" 

"No," Cole whispers back, looking down at his lap.  

"I'm a big boy," Stefan assures him, "I'm not going to suddenly hold a grudge on you because you lost feelings for me." It still hurts to put it that way. "People move on. It happens." 

Still intently focusing on his lap Cole asks, "Did you ever lose feelings for me?" 

"No," Stefan answers immediately. "But I did suppress it." They sit in tense silence before he adds, "I'd ask the same to you but since you seem to still enjoy snogging I'd say there's still something there."  

Cole's mouth twitches at what looks like an attempt as a smile, but still doesn't look up. "There is," he says so quietly Stefan almost doesn't hear him.  

They've only had this kind of conversation once, when things began, and it was just as uncomfortable then. Neither of them could ever talk about "feelings" very well, and despite their drinking together the conversation had come up when they were stone cold sober, like now. Stefan had asked first, whether or not Cole felt romantically about their partnership. He had had Cole on top of him, slim and mostly naked besides underwear body spread over him. He had been stroking Cole's shoulders and the two were just staring at each other in silence. There was always a reluctance, a slight fear that what they were doing was wrong. 

Nonetheless Stefan had asked, "Do you love me, Cole?" 

The latter had frozen and Stefan could swear even his heart stopped beating. He didn't immediately rush off of Stefan either, which was a win of some sort in his book. "Stefan..." Cole had started, not breaking eye contact. 

Stefan had laughed. "Don't worry about it forget I said anything," he said, but still didn't move. It was an invitation for Cole to satisfy his curiosity, and maybe get the answer he wanted. 

"I think," Cole had started, and Stefan already knew he wasn't going to get the good answer. "I think we should just take thing as they are." 

It was Cole's way of saying "no", Stefan knew that, and he never brought it up again. 

Until now. 

"So now that suddenly you're not dead you want to tell me that you never lost any feelings? I distinctly remember you saying they were never there," Stefan finally says and can't hide the bitterness in his tone. 

"I thought you didn't hold grudges," Cole says back. 

Stefan laughs, really laughs. "I don't," he replies, "But I'm not going to sit here and tell you that every woman I laid with was because I loved them." He ruffles his hair, "Shit, I even laid with a few men." 

Cole breathes out a breath it sounded like he was holding too long. "I was a coward." 

Stefan blinks. "Excuse me?" 

"In the war," Cole continues. "I didn't save everyone. I got good men killed. Blown to bits." He takes another sip of coffee and regards it with a grim expression. Stefan can't tell if it's because he finally figured out it was well past tasting good or if it was the sudden openness about his experience. "I was overconfident, blinded by the fact that I thought my opinions were the only ones that mattered. I refused to listen to reason, only thinking of the end goal and had no regard for how I would actually get there." 

Stefan stays silent, doesn't even scratch his itching ankle. Cole goes on, "On that hill, the one that got me the ridiculous star, was where I imagined myself dying." He presses his lips together. "One of the men that followed me no matter what, the one that stayed by my side until the end, his death was the worst." Cole's breath hitches like he's about to break down and Stefan thinks he might be the first person Cole has said any of this to. "He was a good soldier. There were land mines going off, constant firing on my squad. Most men blew to bits on impact, but he had spotted ones that were still alive. Still fighting. He told me he was going to go help them, go bring them back to where we had taken cover."  

Cole looks away. "The moment he stepped out, another bomb went off. He gave one more look to me, one last look to see if I was okay through the blast, and then..." He breathes in deeply. "Then he just... Blew up. I have no other way to describe it. I had gotten shrapnel shot into me but I couldn't even notice it when his arm flew down at my feet. I didn't even move, not sure I could have regardless, just sat in death." He finally looks back to Stefan. "They found me a few hours later, sitting in a catatonic trance. It was Kelso who found me. Just by looking at me I think he knew that I had been a coward. I walked away from that, not even bothering to gather my friend's remains. That's when the theories started, that I had single handily taken out all enemy troops myself. No one questioned how it happened—how I survived. No one asked..." 

"So you never told them?" Stefan finishes. 

Cole nods. "I accepted the medal, knowing I didn't deserve it. Kelso could see right through me, he knew I didn't deserve it either." The silence that falls between them is a new kind and Stefan can't tell if it's worse or not. He's not really sure what to say after a confession like that. 

He asks, "Why?" 

Cole glances at him. "Why what?" 

"Why tell me about this now?" 

Cole breathes in sharply. He stares off for a moment before shaking his head. "All this time I spent running from my past. I tried to make up for past wrongs, and it seems to be a recurring pattern." He sighs.  
    
Stefan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. There's a new feeling between the two of them and he can't name it and certainly doesn't know how to deal with it. He thinks it's probably not the best of ideas (he's sure he's right by the way Cole flinches) but he reaches out and grabs Cole's cupped hand. Cole swivels his head sharply, a stray hair whipping with him. "Cole," he whispers and tightens his grip. Cole's remains still. 

"I'm... I'm not a good person, Stefan."  

Stefan weakly smiles. "So? No one's perfect." 

Cole shakes his head and his hand trembles underneath Stefan's. "I mean I've sent people to their deaths. I've been responsible for multiple anguishes across continents. Christ, Stefan I've killed at least five men with my own bare hands. I'm just like the men I ruthlessly hunted down." 

It's true, by society's standards Cole was a certified serial killer. Stefan tries to hide that particular thought, tries to justify it as something Cole had to do. It counts as self-defense, right? "That doesn't change anything for me," Stefan says. He's not entirely sure of himself, but he's still high on the feeling of Cole being alive to really give a flying shit about what he's done.  

Breathing in sharply through his nose Cole glances down at their joined hands. "Stefan, I..." 

Stefan smiles again, a little surer of himself this time. "Don't," he says softly as he stands. He makes his way to around where Cole is sitting and gathers his torso in his arms. Cole flinches at first, but when Stefan rests his chin on Cole's head he can hear Cole audibly sigh.  

Stefan squeezes slightly and presses a kiss to Cole's head. "It'll be okay. We'll get through this together." 

————  

In terms of getting through it together Stefan still isn't sure what he's gotten himself into. They had brought back some old files from Stefan's office thankfully without anyone questioning them again. Stefan reminds Cole it's probably because of the audacious display they had previously, much to Cole's dismay. More importantly, as Cole would reply, the files held some accountability to whoever it was that rummaged through Stefan's car. 

The fact that the man was supposedly staying in Stefan's apartment complex isn't lost on him. Whenever he has to brave the hallways or the elevator he's sure to keep an eye out. It's been about a week since the incident happened and the fact that Stefan hasn't seen any sign of the man worries him, as does the fact that Cole can't seem to draw any conclusions on his identity. 

They spend the first few days trying to figure out what Stefan had in his car, and he insists it was only a rudimentary copy of the initial report of the bloated dead guy that washed on shore. Cole keeps thinking there must have been something else, or else the man would have come back again. Cole's theory is that whatever the man had found, it had been good enough not to try for a second round. 

Just in case the latter actually does happen, Stefan has kept a small piece of masking tape on the bottom of his door every night when he goes back home. He figures if it’s been ripped, someone went in. If it stays together he and Cole are safe for another night. The whole situation has Stefan on edge, and it begins to show when he’s not around Cole. All his spare thoughts are wondering if Cole is okay, how they’re going to end this all, and occasionally whether or not he’s going to die that day. If he’s honest, he thinks about the latter a lot.

He’s thinking about it as Galloway babbles on about some theory he has for the case. How he thought maybe he had seen the guy walking around or he knew his wife. Stefan blanks out, watching the shadows on the wall of people bustling around the station and tries to stay focused on solving the case. In this instance he has a cup of coffee in his hand (they finally fixed the machine), transfixed on the way the steam is rolling off of it, like it has no cares in the world. It doesn’t need to be anywhere. It can just float off and diffuse into the atmosphere. 

“Bekowsky?” Comes Galloway’s ruffled voice. It sounds more annoyed than concerned, but Stefan looks at him anyway.

“Yeah?” He says sheepishly.

“You listening at all?” Galloway furrows his brows. So it was more annoyed than anything else it seems.

“Yeah,” Stefan says again and rubs his nose harshly. “I just don’t get where this guy even came from. How far up the river did he come from?”

Galloway shrugs and looks blindly around for something. “Don’t know, but I went looking through missing person reports.” He scoffs under his breath and mutters “Goddammit” as he shuffles through papers. Stefan is actually impressed at the effort he’s putting in—he never did much except comment on how Stefan was actually pretty good at this whole detective thing. Stefan still never knows if that’s a compliment or not.

“Here,” Galloway says and shoves a paper in front of Stefan’s face. It’s of someone who could look very much like their man, but the picture he has glasses and a beard. “Came from a jewelry store in Hollywood. Seems like this guy never showed up for work for three days and so they reported him missing,” Galloway explains. He snorts, “I’m thinking they’re more concerned for their profit than if the guy is actually alive or not.”

Stefan furrows his brows. “But this man has features ours didn’t.”

“True,” Galloway agrees, “But get this. That picture? It’s from a year ago, this jewelry store had him as a security guard.”

Stefan’s heart starts to race. “So he had to be shaven…”

“And it would be just as easy to stash the glasses somewhere after the murder,” Galloway adds in.

Stefan grips the paper a little tighter. He almost feels like he’s going behind Cole’s back, but there were two things. One, Cole wasn’t going to tell him who it is. As far as he was concerned, the man was dead and there was nothing more about it. Two, this was Stefan’s job. Even if he would purposefully dump evidence to keep Cole safe, he still had to investigate. 

“Guess we’re going to Hollywood,” Stefan chimes.

They take Galloway’s car because Stefan doesn’t want to even start the conversation as to why his is messed up. When they finally get to the store it’s almost dark out and the streets of L.A. are rife with suspicious people. It doesn’t make Stefan feel any more assured about his life, and starts standing with his hand on his hip, right in easy reach of his gun.

After Galloway gets done with the brief yet stern introduction, he asks the clerk about the man who went “missing”. It’s a strategy that Stefan has learned to not mention they’re dead yet in case information gets withheld. It amazes him that even though these people have nothing to do with the murder, they will still act guilty and refuse to cooperate. He’s had to do more than a few exhausting interrogations to learn that. 

“The asshole just never came back to work,” the clerk says. “We called him day in and day out and nothing. It’s like he just went and left town.”

Stefan is looking at the ceiling. “Do you guys have security cameras?”

The man looks at him quizzically. “Why of course, this is the finest jewelry store in Hollywood.”

Galloway snorts under his breath as Stefan looks at the clerk. “Might we speak with whoever manned them this past week, possibly even later?”

The clerk stammers but complies after Galloway and Stefan just stare him down. They’re led to a pathetically tiny room that smells heavily of cheap cigarettes and sex, with a man crouched on a stool. Obviously picking up the smell himself the clerk dashes off and mutters something about if they need any other help to not hesitate to let him know.

“Yes, sir?” Stefan says, stepping forward. His hand is still on his hip. The man jumps slightly but turns. It looks like he hasn’t slept in a week and he makes no move to speak so Stefan just goes on, “Were you by chance surveilling these possibly a week ago or so?”

The man slowly nods, “That’d probably be me, yeah.”

“Ah, good. How familiar are you with the security guards that work here?” Feeling slightly more comfortable he slides both his hands into his pockets.

The man shrugs. “A fair bit I reckon,” he slurs. 

Galloway lights a cigarette that most definitely doesn’t help with the smell. “Oh yeah? Did you know a big ol’ fat one?” He says.

The man sniffs, “Like you, you mean?”

Galloway stares him down but Stefan can’t help but laugh under his breath. He even turns his head away to avoid making it too obvious, though his bouncing shoulders are probably enough. Still, Galloway takes a drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, like me, wise ass.”

“Yeah, that was Joseph. Or Big Joe, as he was called.” The man smiles like he’s remembering something fond.

“You got a last name?” Stefan asks.

“Aye, Teller.”

Stefan jots it down. “Did Mr. Teller act strangely at all before his disappearance?”

“He means did he look like he was out to fuck someone up,” Galloway chimes in, blowing smoke in the man’s face.

He bats it away with a grimace. “Mr. Teller mostly kept to ‘imself. He did look rather flustered on a phone call one night, though.”

More jotting down. “Can you elaborate?”

Galloway leans forward again. “He means spill the beans you cockney asshole.”

The man laughs under his breath, “Can you tell your grandpa to lay it off, yeah?”

Stefan kicks Galloway’s leg. “Don’t mind him, sir, just please go on.” 

He shifts in his seat, going back to watch the cameras with some haste. “Well, yeah, it was about one in the morning I s’pose when he goes over all frantic like to the ringing phone. Now hear me out, these phones don’t ring much in the night, yeah? So I was already intrigued by the whole thing.” He wipes his nose, narrows his eyes at the screens, and goes on: “So he gets over there and picks up the phone like a damn gun and goes off into it like a stream of bullets. He’s flailing his ‘ands around and making a rather ruckus. Then suddenly he just slams it down and goes for his gun. I didn’t see much after that, detective.”

Stefan’s hand is flying as he tries to write this all down. “No, that’s very helpful. Just another question, was there anyone otherwise suspicious around the store at the time?”

The man strokes his beard. “Matter of fact, there was a strange man that came in the store a lot and never bought nothin’. He wore a lot of layers and you could never see his face much, so they eventually kicked him out, thinking it was only time before he robbed them. You’d still see him out back sometimes, though, just fiddling with something in his ‘ands. Weird fellow for sure.”

Stefan’s heart races. _That must be Cole_ , he thinks. He closes his notepad and puts his hand back on his hip, a new fear growing in the pit of his stomach. “Thank you for the information, sir.”

Both Stefan and Galloway turn to walk out when the man clears his throat and calls out, “Wait.” They both turn and then man breaks his gaze from the cameras. “What did Big Joe do anyway? Not like him to skip out of town unannounced.”

Galloway and Stefan exchange glances before Stefan sighs. “Mr. Teller was murdered, sir. We found his body a few days ago bloated on the river shore.”

The man’s eyes widen and he slaps a table adjacent to him. “I told ‘im!” He shouts, “I told ‘im to stop messing with that crowd, that it was gunna get him killed. Dammit that fool.” He spits at the ground. “Damn him to hell.”

Galloway shrugs it off and leaves, but Stefan stays behind. He stares at the floor while the man mumbles no doubt obscenities under his breath before asking, “What sort of people?”

It’s about quarter to eight when Stefan rolls up to a nondescript warehouse. Galloway begrudgingly agreed to go on the basis that he wasn’t going to let Stefan be a hero without him. He says something about it every five minutes on the way there and only shuts up when Stefan turns off his headlights and shoves him in the arm. 

It’s totally barren, any sign of business long rusted away. If Stefan had to guess it’s probably been empty for at least twenty years. Though it wasn’t empty, and he knows it. The man at the jewelry store had told him about this group of men he played poker with. How he knew they were a bad crowd, that sometimes “Big Joe” would come back bloodied and bruised the next day. Said he only heard of the area they had been in, something about the “ugliest run down warehouse the Queen herself has ever seen” and Stefan thinks he’s hit the jackpot. There’s no cars out front, he notices, so either no one’s home and or they’re walking into a death trap.

Stefan is silent as he opens the door, and the only sound from Galloway is him cocking his gun into place. They look at each other from across the car, neither sure what really to do. Stefan mouths “From the back?” but Galloway just shrugs. For some reason Stefan’s heart is genuinely trying to beat out of his chest and that fear in the pit of his stomach feels like a twenty pound weight. He tries to attribute it to the nerves of ever going somewhere like this, but underneath he knows he might find something he won’t like. Something about him, or even worse, Cole.

He motions for Galloway to take the back as he saunters up to the only visible door, trying his best to remain calm. There’s a ringing in his ears that won’t go away, and tries to block it out as he presses his ear up to the door. He hears nothing, not even the whirring of fans, and begins to slowly open the door. It creaks unenthusiastically but loud enough it echoes off the walls and it makes Stefan cringe. So much for being stealthy, then.

Turns out it wouldn’t have mattered because the whole place is completely void of people. Galloway stumbles through from the back where a garage door was and twirls, shrugging as he goes. Stefan hasn’t let his defense fall, though, and keeps a lookout as he and Galloway meet in the middle. 

“Think the old man lied to us?” Galloway asks when they get close enough.

Stefan shakes his head. “It’s hard to say, but if I ran a secret poker ring I’d pick this place too. It’s almost completely rotten out.”

Galloway nods and scratches his head with his gun. Stefan is hoping the safety is on. “There’s not even any secret room or anything. It looks like a dud to me, Bekowsky.”

Perhaps it’s that even with Cole’s help he’s gotten no where on this case, but also the fact that his life could still be in immediate danger, that he shakes his head again. “No, there’s definitely got to be something here. There has to be.” He turns away from Galloway and begins scanning the floor, kicking over stray bits of concrete in hopes something might magically spring from the depths.

Galloway doesn’t follow but calls out, “Why are you so adamant about this? Skipper doesn’t even really care about it. We could just rule it out as suicide and go home.”

Stefan sighs through his nose. “Just look around, Rusty.” Behind him he hears Galloway grumble but actually does also hear his feet start to move. They wander in opposite directions, Galloway whistling obnoxiously (it’s a damn good thing no one is here) while Stefan is getting his suit increasingly dirty while he salvages through the rubble. 

“This is pointless,” Galloway calls from the other side of the room after about a solid five minutes. “Can we go home now?”

Stefan ruffles through his hair, knocking off his fedora. “I can’t, Rusty,” he says, flustered. “I can’t come all the way here and not find _something_.” He kicks a particularly large slab of concrete. 

Galloway makes his way over. “The guy could have not known what the hell he was talking about,” he reasons, “Bekowsky why is this bothering you so much? Not getting enough action lately?” He snorts.

Stefan clambers to stand whips his head around. “Why does it bother me so badly?” He practically shouts, “Because, because I—you know that note?” 

Galloway steps a little away. “Yeah?”

Stefan waves his hand. “The one on the body that Mal gave to me, that one.”

Galloway nods, “Oh, yeah that one.”

“Well, I figured it out, Rusty. I figured it out and it was instructions. Instructions to kill someone.” He rubs his face roughly. “To kill _me_.”

Galloway raises his eyebrow, then furrows them, eyeing Stefan suspiciously. “How in the hell did you figure that out anyway?”

Shit. Stefan didn’t think that one through very well. “Never mind that, someone is out to kill me!” He can feel himself getting hysterical. Maybe this was bothering him more than he thought. “I gotta know,” he says, sitting down on another boulder of pure concrete, careful to avoid the steel bars protruding from it. “I gotta know who these people are, Rusty. What they want with me.”

“Alright, alright,” he replies. “But what about the guy who killed Big Joe?”

Stefan shakes his head, wiping his forehead. “Did me a favour, as far as I’m concerned.”

Galloway laughs. “Hey, I like this side of you, Bekowsky. Getting down to the real stuff.” He doesn’t make a move to sit, but sets his gun back into his holster. “So what do we do?”

Stefan stands abruptly. “Tear this mother fucking place down,” he mumbles.

To his surprise and rather frank gratitude, Galloway helps. They begin overturning rubble, pulling on strangely positioned bars like it’s going to open some secret library or some shit, grabbing at anything in the partial darkness, hoping it has an answer. Stefan knows he’s getting hysterical, knows that ringing in his ear isn’t going away anytime soon. He’s been so concerned with keeping Cole safe, keeping Cole happy, Cole everything. He’s forgotten the reality of the situation—Cole is a murderer and Stefan is going to die if he doesn’t figure this shit out.

“Bekowsky,” Galloway calls from somewhere nearby.

Stefan’s face is wedged between concrete and he’s quickly giving up hope. “What?”

“You might wanna come here,” Galloway says quietly. Stefan un-wedges himself, dusts off his pants, and walks over. Part of him wishes he hadn’t.

Galloway is standing, holding a sheet. Dust billows from it and it’s obvious it’s of industrial quality (meaning shit), but that’s not what Stefan is looking at. No, he’s looking at a wall. A wall that has a map. A wall that has a map and pictures of not only Stefan, but of Jack Kelso. Herschel Biggs. Elsa Lichtmann. Even Galloway is on there. The map is sprawling with various coloured dots, candid photos of all of them going about their business. To Stefan’s horror, there’s one of him standing in front of the elevator at his apartment complex. Another of him walking out tussling his hair. His heart starts to threaten his life itself it’s beating so fast.

Beyond the thundering noise in his head Galloway says, “What the hell….”

Stefan tries to even his breathing. “I’d say we got a good tip then after all.”

Galloway nods. “You don’t fucking say…” He drops the sheet and moves closer. “Look at everyone…” 

Stefan moves closer as well. “I guess it’s just not me they’re after.”

“No shit,” Galloway mumbles. “You seem to be more popular, though.” 

Naturally Galloway starts to look more over to where his pictures are plastered. Stefan inspects his farther, tries to remember what days these pictures could have been taken. As he scans, he sees a small notation taped on top of a close up picture of his face. It reads, “Possible boyfriend of Phelps?” and before Galloway sees it, Stefan clumsily tears it off and only winces slightly when some of his face comes with it.

“How could we miss something like this?” Galloway scoffs. “Right under our fucking noses, these guys planning our murder. Shit, at least they don’t know where I live.” He lightly punches Stefan in the arm. “Tough break, buddy.”

Stefan weakly nods. _You have no idea_ , he thinks. “Do you notice what I’m seeing, though?”

Galloway turns and sniffs. He stares at it for a few moments before saying, “No, apparently not.”

“There’s someone missing from this map,” he says.

Galloway frustratingly mumbles under his breath. “Enlighten me, Einstein.”

“Roy Earle,” Stefan says. He feels like his voice is ghosting away. “There’s all of us, but no Roy.”

“Fuck,” Galloway says. “Fuck, you’re right. That slimy bastard. You think he’s out to kill us?” 

Stefan shakes his head. “Hard to say. I think it’s pretty certain these guys weren’t just playing poker, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually looked up what kind of security cameras there were around their time. it's pretty interesting


End file.
